


You Know, When I Dreamed about This...

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was not how the fantasy went.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know, When I Dreamed about This...

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on fanfiction.net in 2013 and is now being crossposted here along with the rest of my work. I surprised myself by becoming a die-hard McCarol shipper, so this is the first in a series of oneshots I wrote centered around them.

Fucking condoms.

Now, Dr. Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a sex therapist, dammit, but it's the 23rd Century! We have injections and hyposprays for a reason. Just get your once-a-month birth control injection (ladies), and get your STD inoculations just like the rest of the population and you'll be  _fine_.

Try telling this to the sex-starved crew of the  _U.S.S. Enterprise_.

If McCoy were being objective and rational about this, he would acknowledge that the  _Enterprise_  crew was, by and large, younger than the average Starfleet crew thanks to Nero, and could logically conclude that their sex drives would still be in the horny-and-hormonal phase.

Right now, McCoy didn't really feel like being objective or rational.

Not when he had to place an order--and order that the brass was going to read--for another two shipments of condoms because apparently they were already out in the medical storage facility.

He was going to have to talk to Jim about this.

"Leonard?"

Great. Just the person he needed to see…

McCoy turned to greet his visitor. "Dr. Marcus," he said, unable to help the almost-smile that his lips twitched into. "What can I do for you?"

Dr. Carol Marcus, also known as the ship's Second Science Officer, Bioweapons Expert, Medical-to-Engineering Liaison, and General Jack-of-all-Trades (although the brass frowned on that title), stepped into the storage room. Her blonde hair was perfectly straightened, her makeup light but meticulous. She always took such care--with her appearance, with her work--and McCoy knew that if she was coming down to see him (in the medicine storage locker, of all things) than it must be important.

"I've told you; call me Carol. And actually, it's more like what you can do  _to_  me," Dr. Marcus--Carol--replied.

McCoy barely stopped himself from pinching his arm to make sure this wasn't a dream. He'd had a helluva lot of dreams that had started out this way.

"And what would that be?" He asked.

Carol had the grace to look abashed. "I might have fudged my physical a little in order to be reinstated to the  _Enterprise_."

McCoy set down his PADD with a glower. "Don't tell me the leg is acting up, darlin', or I'll have to put you in the medbay just for integrity's sake."

Carol's sheepish look gave it away. McCoy sighed. "I assume that's why you've gone out of your way to catch me alone so the good Captain won't find out?"

"He is rather overprotective of everyone."

McCoy gestured to the crate upon which he had set his PADD. "Sit."

Carol hopped on and  _god dammit that skirt was short_. Maybe it was because Carol Marcus was as physically different from his ex-wife as it was possible for a woman to be, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to be professional around her. Those slightly splayed cream thighs were not helping matters.

"Where's it hurting?" He asked. "The knee?"

Carol nodded. "You guessed it."

"Maybe," McCoy said, "If you weren't so gung-ho on popping down to every planet we investigate…" He placed his fingertips on her kneecap, probing gently. "You're almost as much of a magnet for trouble as Jim."

Carol… was that a blush? "Maybe I just want an excuse to spend more time in medbay."

That was also something that popped up in his dreams a little more than was decent.

"Well far be it from me to deprive you of your gossiping sessions with Nurse Chapel," McCoy drawled. Christine Chapel was his head nurse for a reason but good God could she gossip. She was the reason he knew all about Jim's sexual exploits before Jim told them to him.

That was definitely a blush. "Maybe it's not Christine I'm going to see," Carol replied.

McCoy paused, frowning. He looked up, only to see that Carol had become distracted by the PADD.

"Are you… is that an order request for…?"

"Condoms? Yes. Apparently our crewmembers are worse than tribbles."

Carol laughed. "Good thing I don't need them, then."

Oh, Lord, the images that conjured…

"Leonard?" And how many times had he thought of her saying his name only in a completely different, completely unprofessional and wanton tone, her chest heaving as she was spread out beneath him…

"Leonard? Are you okay?" His head snapped up to stare into Carol's face, which seemed split between concern and amusement.

"Fine," he ground out. "When does it trouble you, exactly? Just when you're running, or–"

Carol hopped off the crate, her leg gliding along his hand until said hand was now very, very high up on her thigh. "My leg's not what's troubling me," she said, her tone factual. "It's that you're not getting any of my subtle hints."

Something clicked.  _Well, then…_  McCoy flattened his hand against her thigh, touching as much of the soft skin as he could. "And would this be one of them, Dr. Marcus?" He asked, his voice a soft twanging growl.

"Carol," she corrected him, her cheeks flushed.

"Carol," he corrected, watching with satisfaction as her pupils dilated. "You didn't answer my question."

"Yes," Carol breathed, her voice sending a lot of blood down his body. "I learned from Christine you were down here by yourself and I thought, well, it's now or never." The words came out in a rush and she bit down on her lip, as if fearing he would push her away.

He did push her, but only after he stood up and backed her against the crate, pushing her so that she was sitting on it again. "So this whole… thing… hasn't been an old man's perverse fantasy."

Carol laughed a little at that, wrapping her arms around his neck. He had to touch her soon or he was going to explode.

"Definitely not, on either the old man or the fantasy counts." Her eyes gleamed delightedly. "But if your imagination's anything like mine, then definitely perverse."

And then she was kissing him, and he really didn't have any room for rational thought.

There was the slight juicy-sweet tang of her lip gloss, the light shining one that was barely noticeable but made her lips shine invitingly, and then her mouth was open and pliant beneath his, their tongues tangling together and making his body sing with heat. Carol's legs splayed out on either side of him and he let his hands glide down her body, his fingers kneading into her thighs. She gave a sharp gasp into his mouth, her hips scooting towards him until their bodies were completely aligned.

Seeing--and feeling--the positive reaction she gave, McCoy let his hands wander higher, pushing her uniform out of the way. He massaged his way up her inner thighs, feeling her body vibrate as she struggled to stay still, until his fingers brushed against her ( _dammit_  she was wet) underwear. He couldn't see the color but judging by the feel they were one of those little silk numbers, unembellished but top quality.

"You prepared for this, didn't you sweetheart?" He asked her, breaking their kiss to brush his lips against her pulse.

"I like to think positive," Carol replied, her arms wrapping more tightly around him. "I heard… something…" Her speech faltered as he kissed his way down her neck. "About a surgeon's hands ruining you for anyone else…"

He chuckled, a dark thing that prompted a full-body shiver from her. "I'll see what I can do to prove that to you."

She slipped a hand into his hair, tugging his head back up to kiss him again, hard and fast and dirty. If he didn't get these pants off soon he was going to have a circulation problem. He wanted her--wanted to be in her so badly, driving into her until she was writhing and screaming, but he had a reputation to uphold first.

"On your feet, darlin'," he whispered, giving her a final peck on the lips as he withdrew. He tugged her to her feet and helped her yank her uniform off before turning her around, kissing along the ridge of her smooth shoulders.

"Brace yourself," he drawled into her ear as her head fell back against his shoulder, exposing her swan neck to his hungry mouth.

Obligingly, Carol stretched her hands out and gripped the edge of the crate, bracing her arms and letting him plaster himself against her back, giving his arms and hands full and easy access.

As with most things (he couldn't help it, he was a doctor) he started out the way he would with patients: slowly, lulling them into a calm and receptive state so that he could administer his diagnosis, hyposprays or injections without undo fuss. (Jim, of course, was the exception to this, annoying bastard that he was.) He slowly inserted a fingertip, teasing, his thumb working slow circles at her clit.

Maybe if they knew how helpful anatomy was, the little shits at the academy would have paid better attention during Basic Medicine 101.

Carol's head fell forward, a groan escaping her lips. "You're… going to draw this out, aren't you?" She asked, gasping as he let his first finger enter her all the way.

"Maybe," he replied. "Depends on how much you want it."

She rocked her hips back into him at that, humming when she felt his (fucking painful) erection against her ass. "And how much do you want it, Doctor?" The last word was said in a breathy, girlish voice that pretty much sapped the last of the blood from his brain.

He inserted another finger, working her open smoothly, methodically, paying careful attention to how her body was responding. She was vocal, but it was restrained, with only the tiniest of cries slipping past those plump pink lips.

He decided to change that.

By the time he added a third he was pumping in earnest, plunging in and out of her, liquid coating his hand and running down his arm until it reached his elbow, where it dripped onto the floor. He worked her clit as ruthlessly as he dared without letting her spill over the edge, drawing her back from it more than once (which earned him a frustrated moan). Carol was far from restrained now, whimpers and frantic gasps expelled from her throat. Her head was hanging between her arms, her hair all in disarray, and he wished like anything he could see her face.

 _Soon,_  he promised himself. Soon as she'd recovered he was going to turn her around and see what she looked like, see how her composed mask had slipped and was ravaged and wanton and…

Her walls fluttered frantically and she let go of the crate, her hands flying back to grip ferociously at his arms.

"Don't… don't you dare… I'm going to… oh my God _Leonard_ …"

His name. That did him in and he let her go, pressing harder into her clit and feeling her fly into oblivion, the dam breaking and liquid soaking his arm as her body sagged against him. Her fingers dug into his arms, leaving crescent scars that stood out like blood moons against the pale flesh, but the rest of her body was completely slack as her hips flexed lazily, riding out her orgasm. He could only see half of her face from this angle, but what he could catch a glimpse of was indescribably gorgeous.

He kept holding her as she rode out the wave, cresting and falling slowly back to him from that upper realm of pleasure, her hands relaxing until she was simply reclining in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. She looked up at him, her eyes a dark and shining midnight blue, her face flushed and lips swollen.

That's when he knew--he was a goner.

Somewhere, somehow along the way Carol Marcus had become more than an object of his fantasies. Her intelligence, determination, professionalism and disarming charm had wormed their way into his affections. She could hold her own in banter, insisted upon respect, treated his work with reverence and was a willing, helping hand. She had a damn good sense of humor, too.

He was so gone it was like his heart was a wild stallion that had burst away at the first opportunity.

But he couldn't let her know that. He couldn't let this beautiful, young creature know what she'd done to him. She'd learn the error of her ways soon enough, move on to someone else, someone better, and he'd just quietly pick up the pieces and go about his business.

Something must have shown in his face, though, because Carol lifted up a hand and scraped her nails lightly against the stubble on his cheek. "I guess the saying's true, then," she whispered, her voice hoarse from the almighty shriek she'd given. "I suppose I'll have to keep you around." Her lips quirked up into a smile.

He just had to kiss her then, pretend that she meant it and he could keep her forever, knowing that this wasn't how the fantasy went, it had just gone much farther than that.

Carol made appreciative noises as he lightly stroked her stomach, not wanting to over stimulate her so soon after her orgasm. She turned in his arms without breaking the kiss, deepening it until it felt like they were melded together. Dammit but she was a good kisser.

Then she did that little curling thing with her tongue. Make that a  _great_  kisser.

Cool fingers slipped under his shirt, tugging it up to get at his skin. He suddenly wished he'd worked out a bit more. Sure, he hit the on-ship gym when he could and he ate healthily but he probably shouldn't drink so much whiskey and he sure as hell wasn't a spring chicken…

Carol broke the kiss to finish getting the shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly away, and the look in her eyes as she took in his appearance effectively banished all doubt from his mind. Before he could say anything her hands shot forwards, undoing his pants and pulling them down along with his underwear, falling to her knees as she did so.

The cool air against his dick was a soothing balm after the confines of his pants, but he couldn't help the jolt of self-consciousness that shot through him.

"As good as you imagined it?" He drawled, sounding much more confident than he felt.

Carol--he really was a goner--flicked her tongue across her lower lip before tugging it between her teeth. "Better," she assured him, her voice raw and thrilling. She rocked forwards on her knees, licking a long stripe along the underside before sucking the tip into her mouth, lapping up the pre-come that beaded out.

He could have sworn his eyes crossed of their own accord.

She rose to her feet, backing up a step and perching herself on the edge of the crate again, spreading her sticky legs wide. "So tell me…" She asked, her voice light, "If a surgeon's hands are legendary… then what about his other appendages?"

Fucking tease.

"You'll just have to see, won't you?" He replied, coming up to stand between her legs, which she promptly wrapped loosely around his waist.

Carol hummed, brushing her lips against his. "What are you waiting f–"

He cut off her last words as he entered her, a gasp punched out of her lungs as she wound her arms around his shoulders. He couldn't lie--it had been a long time--but  _God in heaven_ she was tight, and absolutely pulsing with heat. He'd studied it in passing but he could never comprehend how women could survive multiple orgasms without dying of exhaustion.

One of the perks, he supposed, to make up for carrying another human being in your body for nine months.

"Let me know when you're ready, sweetheart," he whispered. He hadn't known Carol to have any relations with anyone during the past few months on-board, and he didn't want to hurt her.

"I've  _been_  ready," she replied. "I'm going to die if you don't fucking move  _oh God_ …"

He started moving, thrusting carefully at first but soon getting up a good rhythm. After a minute Carol leaned back on her hands, exposing that gorgeous chest to his eyes and mouth, letting him work her breasts until she was crying out expletives and blasphemies on every other breath.

Oh, but she was exquisite, and he swore to God and bluegrass and on his father's grave he was going to do anything and everything to keep her. He couldn't last long, not with how she was snapping her hips up to meet his thrusts, riding him and making those torturously sweet noises in the back of her throat like–

"Bones?" There was a banging on the door. "Bones, are you in there?"

This was definitely not how his fantasies went.

"Oh my fucking God I am going to kill him," Carol muttered with a groan.

McCoy buried his head between her breasts, swallowing hard. Maybe, just maybe, if they were quiet…

"Look, I know you're still mad at me about the whole Cotton Candy Planet thing, but Spock has forgiven me so I think that's a good sign it wasn't that bad, right?" Kirk undoubtedly had his best  _aren't I so innocent and charming_  face on.

"Get. Him. Out. Of here," Carol grit out. "So we can finish fucking our brains out."

Okay, now that was just fucking  _hot_.

"Look, Jim," McCoy said, and dammit his voice sounded a lot raspier than he'd have liked. "I'm doing some rather annoying inventory right now, which oh, I don't know, might have to do with the horny-as-hell state of everyone on board, so I'll talk to you when I'm good and ready to."

"But Bones…" Kirk whined. The man might be a damn good captain but he was also damn big five-year-old. On a sugar rush. With a massive ego.

"God dammit Jim, I can't have five minutes of peace to do my job?" McCoy snapped.

Carol started chuckling into his shoulder. "You're certainly one to talk about professionalism, Doctor," she whispered.

"You shut up," he replied playfully, nipping at her ear. "You know, when I dreamed this, there were no goddamn interruptions."

Carol ran her lips down his jaw. "Trust me, in my dreams the entire ship is conspicuously empty."

"Are you talking to someone?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, myself. I need to have someone to grumble to about your sorry ass. Now let me finish this and I might be willing to hear your  _ardent and sincere apology,_ " McCoy shouted. "Ask Uhura what those words mean."

Kirk grumbled something like the cranky toddler he was, and there came the sound of boots receding down the hall.

And then silence.

"Oh thank  _God,_ " Carol groaned with relief before plastering their mouths together again, rolling her hips. Well, who was he to refuse an offer like that?

It didn't take either of them long (thankfully, since he always felt like a cad when he finished first), and the undignified shout that he gave was matched by the absolutely amazing cry that was flung out of Carol's mouth, her head tipping back before he tugged a handful of her hair so that he could see her face, see all of her, see what she looked like before it was all white heat and he had to close his eyes against the onslaught…

Somehow they ended up on the floor atop their abandoned clothing, Carol's head pillowed on his chest, her fingers scratching lightly against his chest, weaving through the dark, coarse hair. Their legs were hopelessly tangled and they were both coated in sticky, drying liquid from the waist down, but he really couldn't care less. He threaded a hand through her hair, stroking the silky strands, observing the quiet contentedness of her face.

"We have to get back to work," Carol finally observed, her voice heavy with reluctance.

He tightened his arm around her waist instinctively.

"But," she added, turning slightly and raising herself up on his chest so that they could see each other's faces, "If you're free for dinner…"

He kissed her, gently, tongues barely tasting before dancing away again. "I'm free whenever you are, darlin'." He smiled. "Perks of being the CMO. I get to call the shots in my medbay."

Carol chuckled delightedly. "Good," she announced, a light blush tinting her cheeks. "Good." She paused. "Although… if we could take pains not to let others know…"

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he replied, trying to ignore the way his stomach clenched painfully.

"Normally I don't care, I'd like everyone to know, it's just…" Carol smiled ruefully. "Kirk's a bit of a busybody."

McCoy laughed, out of relief as well as actual humor. "Of course."

Carol slid out of his arms, standing and retrieving her clothes. "Dinner," she reminded him, a kind of fierce worry in her eyes.

"I'll be there," he promised her, realizing for the first time that she might be just as fearful about his level of commitment as he was of hers.

He determined right then that she'd never have cause to doubt his feelings for her.

"All right then." She nodded once, a smile blooming on her face, before hastily slipping her dress over her head and slipping out the door.

Nobody could quite account for the Chief Medical Officer's unusual cheeriness the rest of the day, although going by Lt. Uhura's face she had probably guessed (damn gal was too observant for her own good).

Didn't matter. He had Carol now, and it was better than any fantasy.


End file.
